


Borrowed Time

by emeralddarkness



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, F/M, Off-screen Relationship(s), Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 12:45:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3447698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeralddarkness/pseuds/emeralddarkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something old, and something new. Celeborn did stay past Galadriel's sailing a little into the Fourth Age.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Borrowed Time

The wood had been left to fade without the power of the ring, and Celeborn was sometimes surprised at how sharply he missed the ceiling of golden leaves and flowers that the mallorns had created, missed the smooth silver pillars to hold it aloft. The Wood of Green Leaves, for so it was now called, was becoming lovely enough as it continued to heal, but it had no mallorns. It was a peculiar, detached sort of homesickness that never quite went away, which was strange enough when his new home was in many ways like enough to his first. Part of it, he was willing to admit, was simply missing his wife, so sharply that the ache might have been from a physical cut, but it was not entirely everything. Besides, be that as it may, he did still have family here.

The onetime Lord of the Golden Wood had not used to wander, or even desired to, but the impulse that had been so long absent was becoming sharper the longer he stayed in one place, which was itself strange. He still had his responsibilities – if he was to stay in Middle Earth than he owed the people who had stayed with him that much – but it probably was that edge of restless longing that had left him so eager to accept the invitation, when it had come, and leave the cool green leaves to travel long miles, to a city made of white stone, and a hall with golden designs along the roof, which had seemed a peculiar irony, when he’d arrived.

He might have taken any excuse to visit Gondor, by this point, but he was willing to admit that this excuse was better than most; his great grandson was getting married.

Arwen looked old when he saw her again, and Eldarion simultaneously infinitesimally young and yet growing old himself, one of the paradoxes of human life, and slightly painful to see in a man he’d attended the birth of, and who had his grandmother’s eyes. He’d been awkwardly formal around Celeborn, an elf he had heard a great deal more of than he had seen, but his eyes lit when the topic turned to his bride, so Celeborn supposed it was as well as might be.

“He’s very like his father, in some ways,” Arwen had said a little fondly later when they were discussing it, after the ceremony. It had been nice, if different than what Celeborn was quite used to, and there had been songs and cheering in the streets. “He is a good man, and shall be a great king.” She’d leaned into Celeborn’s arms, and he had wrapped them around her, and tried to ignore the fact that she was dying.

“Will you tell mother about him?” she’d asked, very suddenly after several moments in silence. “That’s one of the only things I have left to regret, that she’ll never know any of them, and that I won’t see her again.”

“Yes,” Celeborn had made himself stay, as he made his voice stay smooth, though it had become somewhat distant. “Of course I will. I doubt she would let me rest if I didn’t, to speak truly.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” Arwen had said without argument, and faded back into his arms. He’d held her, and looked around the stone city that was no more home than the forest was, any more, and wondered why things could not be simple, and could not end in songs and cheering instead of tears.


End file.
